


If Suddenly I Should Forget You

by mouthydark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amnesiac Dean, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Protective Castiel, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 12:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4019161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouthydark/pseuds/mouthydark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean forgets who he is and disappears, Sam sends Castiel to find him...but Cas finds more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**_The prince of peace embraced the gloom and walked the night alone. -_ Led Zeppelin, Battle Of Evermor _e_**

 

It's pretty damn distressing to wake up in a cheap, dingy motel room with no knowledge whatsoever of how you got there or who the fuck you are. Imagine opening your eyes to near darkness, and it's almost familiar, right? The smell of the cheap cleaners that crappy motels get for the maids to use, the rough comforter bunched up beneath you, the hard mattress you're laying on. So you roll out of bed with a groan, flick on the lamp, and...what the fuck, dude, nothing is as familiar as you would've first guessed, just those initial sensations of touch and smell. So you stumble to the bathroom and take a long piss, shake your head to try and clear it a little, thinking, _man, it must've been some party..._ until you turn to the mirror and the person looking back? He's nobody. So yeah, maybe the word distressing is kind of an understatement. Of all the days I can remember, that was definitely the worst fucking one.

Here's what I _do_ know: I'm tallish and well-muscled in a lean sort of way. I have light green eyes and short, sandy brown hair. There are several varying degrees of scars lining the hard edges of my body, a long silvery line etched into the flesh of my thigh, a deep curving hook in my side just under my ribs. Lots more that aren't so bad and a few that are worse. A couple look like healed bullet wounds. There's a medium sized tattoo on my chest that I've grown kinda fond of. I know I like whiskey, classic rock, and women (not necessarily in that order); I won't turn my nose up at the occasional man if one happens to catch my eye. I'm fairly young, early to mid thirties if I had to guess, and I'm damn good lookin'. I have a decent sized dick, so yeah, I have that going for me.

I stare at myself in the mirror drinking in these details for the hundredth time trying to remember anything at all about the stranger in front of me. I've already gone through every inch of my worn out, army green duffle bag. Six changes of clothes, mostly black T-shirts and well-worn jeans, boxer briefs and the kind of socks that are designed to keep your feet warm and dry. A sharp, gleaming hunting knife with a black handle. A gun that fits perfectly into my hand and scares me a lot less than it probably should. A random and inexplicable unopened canister of salt. A box of condoms that has been opened but is only minus two or three. A wallet containing five hundred and twenty seven dollars and an ID with my smiling face next to the name John Hetfield, which rings false when I say it out loud. It would've helped immensely to find an address book or a cell phone or even a measly scrap of paper with a cryptic note on it, but what the fuck, you can't have everything handed to you on a silver platter.

After finding the ID, I took a little side trip to the local library and searched the name on one of the computers. Got back zilch. No social media, no missing persons, no google results that led anywhere at all. I did get plenty of hits for _James_ Hetfield and Metallica, which, while awesome, was not terribly helpful. The address on the ID was bullshit, too, turned out to be an abandoned factory in Alvin, Illinois. I seem to be a ghost at this point.

So. I gather I have fucking amnesia, and I'm not really quite sure what to do with that. Am I CIA? Am I a fugitive? Am I a goddamn spy? Do I have a wife missing me somewhere? No. That doesn't seem right. No wedding ring, not even the hint of a tan line. Maybe I don't have any family at all. I mean, I would hope to Christ if I did, they would have at least put my face on a milk carton or something.

I splash water on my cheeks, and then I smirk at my reflection. The cocky smile feels natural, eyelids crinkling a little in the outer corners. Sure, I'm sorta freaked out, but you wouldn't know it from looking at this face.

****

On night one, I woke up with mild anxiety that bloomed into a dull terror deep in my belly when I couldn't figure out who I was. With the beginnings of a dull, throbbing headache setting up shop behind my eyeballs, I left the motel, just started walking in no particular direction with my hands shoved deep in the pockets of the leather jacket I found next to my bag. I stumbled into the first bar I came across, because it seemed like the right thing to do in that situation: get shit-faced. But then I noticed some college boys playing pool in a darkened corner, and an irresistible urge to hustle 'em came over me out of nowhere. I don't even know how I knew I _could_ hustle; I guess it's probably the same way hot girls know they can get whatever they want by slowly licking their lips in the direction of the fattest wallet. So I put on the dog a little as I stumbled up to them. I slurred out a challenge and slapped a fifty down on the table. They ate it up. And by God if I ain't a pool genius. I walked out of the bar that night three hundred dollars richer.

After a week, I was feeling a little more comfortable. I had loosened up and had my schtick down pat. I was alternating bars, sticking mostly to seedy biker joints or college hang outs so people wouldn't get too suspicious, and I didn't hustle every night anyway. Just enough to keep a roof over my head, a few drinks and food in my belly. That night I walked away with two hundred and fifty bucks in my pocket and a hot redhead with big tits...not a ton of profit, but the girl made up for it. I learned, much to my satisfaction, that I'm not only good at pool, I ain't too shabby at pleasing the ladies either.

At the ten day mark, I was doing my thing when my very large, very drunk competitor decided he was going to bash my skull in. I'm pretty sure I was embarrassing him in front of his biker buddies. The bad news was, he had about sixty pounds and three inches on me, and he looked like the classy kind of dude who wouldn't mind moonlighting as a serial killer on the weekends.

"You motherfucker," he said dangerously, throwing down his pool cue like a gigantic bearded baby, "you're fuckin' playin' me." He came at me all sweaty and red faced, a small mountain in a Harley vest.

I raised my hands up defensively and took two quick steps back. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, Tiny. You might wanna rethink this."

"TINY?" he bellowed. "That is _it_ , asshole. I'm gonna rip your goddamn head off!" Then his huge meaty fist was heading straight for my left eye socket.

What happened next...I can't even explain it. I ducked, dodged right, brought up a quick hard jab into his ribs. I rolled to the ground as he took another swing, popped back up, blocked, picked up the cue ball...and slammed it into his right temple. The whole thing took less than a minute. He crumpled at my feet with a groan, while I hadn't even broken a sweat.

The fact that I knew how to fight didn't surprise me, at least not any more than the gun in my duffle bag had. I grabbed my money off the table and growled at the fallen biker, "Stay down, Chuckles." He did.

After the fight, as nonchalantly as possible, I fed five bucks into the juke and picked out some tunes; Zeppelin, Metallica, the good shit. The music and the double whiskey I ordered next helped calm me down. I was shaking slightly, not because I could've gotten my ass kicked, but because I was positive I could have killed the guy, easy. Had even kind of wanted to, just out of principle. I took a quick survey of the room and noticed lots of eyes on me. I knew I could have my pick of the ladies. They were all eye-fuckin' me like I was a goddamn underwear model on a billboard, and all I could think was, _you should all be scared right now._ Instead, I took off with a guy who could do things with his mouth that you wouldn't believe.

In the morning after I sent the human Hoover on his merry way with the empty promise to give him a call next time I needed my carpets cleaned, I checked out of the motel and hitched a ride a few hours away to the next decent sized town where I started the same song, different verse. I felt like it would have been pretty damn stupid to keep playing that scene after my little rough and tumble the night before. Tiny wasn't gonna forget my face, and somebody would probably end up in the hospital if I stuck around. I had a feeling it wouldn't be me.

So here I am on my fourth town in a month staring into a smeary mirror and grinning at myself like an idiot. It ain't glamorous, but hell, I figure a ghost like me hasn't got a ton of options. It's either this or something even more unsavory, at least until I figure out what the fuck is going on.

I can't go to the cops. The idea crossed my mind, but I threw it out as soon as it occurred to me. If I ever find out who I am without landing in prison for things I don't even remember doing, I figure then I can make an honest living. Except I'm a little scared to find out who used to be. Because of the scars. And the gun. And the phony ID.

It isn't like I'm not trying to remember something. I'm just...not remembering. The one tiny breakthrough I've had are the dreams. Some are nightmares, and they make me wonder just how fucked up I really must be. Nightmares about blood and torture. Killing things. When I wake up everyday, I scribble down the details I can remember on motel stationary. I have several pages of jumbled shit that makes absolutely no sense. Scary shit.

I have written the word **Sam** , a deep slash of underline beneath it, followed by a question mark. There's one nightmare I've had a few times, a man with yellow eyes standing in a darkened room, a woman on a ceiling bleeding from her stomach, a fire so ferocious I can feel the blistering heat even in sleep. I always wake up from that one screaming, "Sam! Sammy!" until I'm hoarse. But I can't remember who Sam is, so it isn't exactly a life changing revelation.

I've showered and shaved. Put on a black T-shirt and a dark gray button down. I have the hunting knife strapped to my calf, but I've never taken the gun out with me; the damn thing doesn't make me nervous when it's in my bag, but I _do_ feel like it would be easy to let things go way too far if it I could have it readily in my hand.

Is it bad that I'm kinda having fun? This has to be better than whatever crazy shit I left behind. Hell, I'm pretty sure I was some kind of hardened criminal, maybe even a killer...and yeah, sometimes I think for a second that I don't wanna know. I'm not too macho to admit that at all. Besides, I get to drink, get laid, and I only work for a couple hours a night. During the hours that the sun is in the sky, I'm free to search for clues about my identity or sleep or jerk off all day if the notion strikes me.

Who can beat that?

Who cares that after a month of this shit, I'm getting kind of lonely.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Upon us all a little rain must fall. -_ Led Zeppelin, The Rain Song **

 

Sam sat alone in the bunker's library, more annoyed than scared at this point. He impatiently rifled through the papers in front of him, then turned back to the warm glow of the laptop screen. He felt a mild headache coming on, because, _fuck this shit_ , he couldn't find a lead anywhere. Pinching the bridge of his nose to warn the pain away, Sam let out a long, exasperated sigh.

Dean had gone missing a month ago. A _month_. Sam didn't know if he was alive or dead, though he leaned very heavily towards alive. Dean could take care of himself, Sam knew. Besides, he had been checking obits for the whole state religiously. Yeah, he was probably fine, just fucking lost...

This was the second time that Dean had taken off, and it was all because some bitchy one night stand had a hard-on for fucking with his brother's head. Dean had picked her up in a shittly little bar, oblivious to the fact that she was a purveyor of the dark arts. When he didn't call her back after a few days, the vindictive bitch had hexed Dean with a pretty strong amnesia spell.

 _Goddamn witches...you can never tell just by looking at them,_ Sam thought furiously as he kept typing.

****

Sam woke up one morning and Dean was just...gone. After a few hours, and still no sign of him, Sam called his cell, was dismayed to hear the electric guitar of his ringtone going off in Dean's bedroom.

"What the hell?" he asked. Dean would never go anywhere without his phone or, at the very least, without leaving a hastily scrawled note...

Sam called around to a few more people who might have some idea of where Dean was, but face it, Dean didn't really have friends, and none of his acquaintances had heard from him. Finally, Sam decided to call Andra after searching Dean's room top to bottom and finding her number on a wadded up hot pink post-it next to the trashcan. She had drawn a little heart after her name. Gross. He figured Dean very well might have gone back for seconds, though; she had been an attractive enough woman; long blonde hair, nice body, and a perky can-do attitude.

"Hey, is this Andra?" he muttered into the phone when she answered after the second ring.

"Yes, it is. Who is this?" came the bubbly voice. Sam sighed. She sounded like a friggin' cheerleader.

"Uh. This is Sam. From the bar a few nights ago? You left with my brother? I was just wondering...have you seen him?"

There was a long pause on the line, then she laughed. It sounded...off. "Yeah, Sam, I remember you, but I'm guessing Dean doesn't."

What the fuck did that mean? "Andra, seriously, I'm just trying to track down Dean, and if you know where he might be, I would really appreciate it." 

"Ok, Sammy, I know _you_ aren't the asshole of the family, so I will give you a little hint. Dean-o woke up alone and afraid last night. That's all I can tell ya. He should probably work on his people skills in the future." Then she giggled. The bitch actually giggled.

 _Goddamn_. He felt a flutter of panic. "Andra, if you hurt Dean, I swear to God..."

She cut him off. "Dean?" She spat the name out like poison. "Dean hurt _me_! I thought we had something special, Sammy. Then he doesn't call, he doesn't write...he blocked my calls, Sam! So let's call what I did a little prank. He's probably fine." Then she giggled again.

Sam went cold. _Christ, she's probably boiling bunnies as we speak_ , he thought, as the panic morphed from a flutter into a deep pounding that beat at the inside of his chest.

"So where is he, Andra? And I better find him all in one piece," he said menacingly.

"I honestly don't know where he I ended up. But wherever it was, he won't know who he is or what's going on. If you find him and try to tell him, he'll just black out and forget everything, and it will start all over again. I have to remove the hex myself..."

"You're a goddamn _witch_?" Sam interrupted, yelling into the phone. "What the fuck, Andra!" She wasn't the brightest bulb, that was for sure. She didn't know what Sam and Dean did for a living, but who just admits to being a witch anyway?

 _She's nuts_ , Sam realized, every alarm in his brain going off.

"I have to remove it. In person," she continued, "a little caveat to get Dean to see me again. Tell you what, Sam. You find Dean, and I will do it. I wasn't thinking straight. I was just so mad...he really did hurt my feelings." She sounded like she was pouting.

"Yeah, well, that doesn't give you the right to take a crap on people's lives," Sam pointed out. As soon as he found Dean and he was back to being...himself...Andra was toast. Sam would make sure of that.

As soon as he had hung up the phone, Sam was in the car on his way to Andra's small, well-kept house. There was a picket fence around the front yard and wildflowers exploding out of the flower bed. Sam shook his head, pressed his lips together in an angry line. She had seemed pretty normal when he met her and her home reflected that, but he knew looks were often deceiving.

Sam pounded on her door, and she answered it looking disheveled, out of breath. There was three suitcases behind her. When she saw Sam, her eyes opened wide with fear. She tried to close the door on him, but he shouldered his way inside.

"Going somewhere, Andra?"

"Sam. I - I was just - you're a hunter, aren't you?" she moaned. "You didn't even seemed surprised when I mentioned a hex." She looked terrified, Sam was pleased to notice.

"Bingo. You messed with the wrong people. Because if anything happens to Dean? I promise you aren't gonna like how I handle it." Sam was breathing heavy, trying hard not to lose it. "So I ask again. Going somewhere?"

Her face crumpled and she began to cry. "I promise, Sam, I have never done anything like this before. I've only done _good_ things. I used it to get a promotion, get a little extra money here and there. I never hurt anyone..." She swallowed loudly. "I'm sorry. Please. Please don't hurt me."

Sam's anger slowly dialed back a notch. He hated seeing women cry, even evil skanks who needed better hobbies.

"I'll make you a deal, Andra, and it's a good one, so you better take it. Yeah, Dean and I are hunters. And I'm damn good at what I do. I'm going to track my brother down, and when I do? You better be right here, ready and willing to fix him." He glared at her. "If you aren't? If you take off like you were planning? I will hunt you down, and I will end you. And don't think I can't find you, Andra. The things Dean and I hunt always end up dead."

Andra was nodding her head frantically. "Okay, Sam, okay, I'll stay here. I promise. I will do whatever you want." She sniffled loudly. Sam wondered if he should take her to the bunker anyway, lock her up in the basement just to make sure she didn't bolt, but her tears and fear told his gut that it wouldn't be necessary. She wasn't going anywhere.

He nodded. "I'll be in touch. And you better answer when I call."

Sam and Cas tracked Dean down a couple of towns over easily enough, only took 'em a two days. He was sitting in a coffee shop by himself looking confused. Sam approached him carefully and nervously started up some small talk. It all seemed to be going alright until he made the mistake of trying to get Dean to come with them. He started explaining what was going on. First, Dean looked at him like he was crazy. Then he got all glassy eyed and complacent. He stared off at nothing with his mouth hanging slightly open. Sam could tell right away that the magic was blocking out all explanation they were trying to give him. The bitch wasn't lying. It was like they had pressed a reset button.

Either Sam would have to research the hex and figure out a fix himself, or Andra would have to break the curse. But for either of those things, Dean would have to be present. Which, _what the hell,_ all of a sudden he wasn't _._ The second Sam and Cas had turned their backs to talk quietly about their next move, Dean had bolted, and this time, he was being a much bigger pain in the ass to locate.

****

"A fucking month," Sam muttered, shaking his head as his fingers clicked and clacked against the keyboard. He had searched the nearest towns, called hospitals and morgues; he visited motels he thought Dean might pick, even checked all the dive bars in the surrounding area that he had seen his brother frequent on occasion. Nobody knew a damn thing. Sam had no idea what alias Dean might be using either. There were just too many of them, and for all Sam knew, he could have made up a whole new one.

Just as he was about to slam the laptop closed in frustration and stretch his legs, his phone rang. It was Cas. He yanked it up and said, "Hey, man, any news?"

"Hello, Sam. I believe I've found Dean," the angel said.

Sam's head snapped up, and he gripped the phone tighter. "What, where? How?"

"I went to bars and showed his picture to people," he said simply.

 _That's it?_ Sam thought incredulously. _Hell, I did that._ "Which bars?" he asked instead.

"All of them." Cas sighed. "At least all of the ones in Kansas, then I moved on to the surrounding states. I'm sorry that it has taken me so long. But there were a lot of bars, Sam."

Oh. Castiel did have certain perks that Sam didn't. Like zapping himself places in the blink of an eye.

Sam would have hugged Cas if he had been in front of him. "So where is he, man?"

"He's staying at a place called The Starlight Motel, and he's been going to a few of the bars here in..." Cas paused again like he was looking at a map, "Wildwood, Missouri. The bartender says he's been playing pool for money."

Sam snorted back a laugh. That was so Dean.

Wildwood. That was close to a ten hour drive from Lebanon. How the hell had Dean gotten almost two states away? "Okay, Cas, you're awesome. What's our next move?"

"I thought it might be wise if I get him talking, put him at ease without bringing up anything about who he really is, then I could bring him to you," Cas said, surely remembering Sam's colossal fuck up when they'd found him first time. "I'm afraid we will have to take a car. I'm not strong enough to teleport a passenger at this time."

"Cas, I should handle this! I can't just sit here hoping you'll convince him to...to take a road trip with you!" Sam snapped, then immediately regretted it. Without Cas, he would still be aimlessly clicking away at his keyboard, finding nothing. "I'm sorry, Cas, it's just...he's my brother."

Castiel didn't seen offended. "I understand, but please allow me to try. If I take a few days, get him talking, this could work. And maybe I can make this whole thing a lot less...unpleasant. He is my friend, Sam." He was surely imagining Sam rolling up and cuffing Dean against his will, throwing him in the backseat of the Impala before driving back to Kansas.

Sam considered it and sighed loudly. "Okay, Cas. But if this doesn't pan out in a few days, I'm coming to get him. Got it?" Castiel sounded relieved.

"Got it."

"Oh, and Cas? Remember. Don't let anything slip. If you do, the damn spell will reset and we could lose him again."

"I won't let you down, Sam." The angel hung up the phone.

Sam hoped Cas was right.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Mellow is the man who knows what he's been missing. Many, many men can't see the open road. -_ Led Zeppelin, Over The Hills And Far Away**

 

Castiel's patience was a thing that rarely could be reckoned with. After living for millennia, sitting quietly on a bench across the street from Dean's motel for a couple of hours was nothing. He didn't get uncomfortable while he waited, just sat as still as a statue until he saw movement through the window. Cas's head snapped up when he saw the hint of an arm, the curve of a shoulder through the small opening in the curtains. Suddenly, he felt slight trepidation about the mission; he knew he couldn't let Sam down. Didn't want to let Dean down.

A hundred things went through Cas's head as Dean walked out the door and into the parking lot. What if Dean blew him off? What if he lost track of him again? There were many ways this could go wrong, he knew. Briefly, Cas considered that he had made a mistake and should call Sam back to come help.

Dean was whistling a quiet tune, surely something rock and roll, and Castiel thought he looked very good for having been missing a month, healthy and happy. Dean's hair was a little longer, messier. The worry lines on his forehead had smoothed themselves out, and the dark circles underneath his eyes were gone. He had a spring in his step that Castiel couldn't remember seeing for a very long time.

Cas let him get about a block away before he stood and started following. He suspected Dean was on his way to one of the closer bars, since he didn't have a car. His instincts proved to be correct when he saw Dean duck inside the first one he came across. Hurriedly, Cas followed.

When he entered the place, he scanned the room and found Dean at the bar chatting up the bartender, nodding his head and smiling broadly. He ordered a glass of something, downed it quickly and then replaced it with a bottle of beer.

Cas took a seat at a table near the entrance where he could see most of the room and keep watch. He also didn't want Dean to slip out without him noticing. The place was dark and smoky and filled with a younger crowd; loud, obnoxious twenty-somethings. A pretty, dark haired waitress walked over and asked him what he would like to drink.

"Um...I guess I'll just have a beer," he said distractedly. Cas didn't really want anything, but he also didn't want to stick out like a sore thumb.

 _Blend in, keep calm_ , he thought to himself. He didn't touch the bottle when the waitress brought it over and set it in front of him.

"You're staring a little," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"Huh?" he asked, his brow furrowing. Cas was _definitely_ sticking out like a sore thumb, regardless of his attempts to do otherwise.

She nodded her head over her shoulder. "You're staring daggers at Johnny over there." Cas quickly looked away.

"Johnny, huh. He looks very much like someone I know," he muttered.

The waitress laughed it off. "Honey, I wouldn't blame you a bit if you _were_  staring. That guy is hot. Kinda mysterious, too. He's been coming in pretty regular the last week, and he's a hell of a pool player." She winked at Cas, then moved on to check on her other tables.

Castiel kept his eyes on his drink for a while after that, taking small sips of his beer every few minutes to blend in. When he finally did look up, Dean had started up a game with a young guy whose small group of friends stood back to watch. Dean was bent over the pool table lining up a shot. Cas had always admired Dean's ability to play so well. Dean had tried on more than one occasion to teach him, but Cas never did get the hang of it.

Dean took his shot and missed. Castiel knew the drill from previous nights out with his friend. He would always lose a game or two, then bet big and win it back, and then some.

He heard Dean's familiar laugh, then, "Hell, fellas, this just ain't my lucky night I guess."

Hearing his voice after a month of worry caused Cas's chest to constrict. It wasn't until that moment that he realized how much he had missed Dean and how relieved he was to find him safe. A lot of awful scenarios had played themselves out in his head as he and Sam had searched for him; arrested with no one to call and no proper identification; attacked by some godawful monster with no knowledge of how to protect himself; even the thought that he could have been hit by a bus had crossed Cas's mind.

After Dean played his obligatory couple of losses and then made his big win, he shook hands with his disappointed opponent and went back to the bar looking quite pleased with himself. He sat down and ordered another drink. Castiel watched him talk to the waitress for a moment, the way he touched her arm and how she blushed in response, swatted his hand away.

Cas was trying to decide the best way to approach him when all of a sudden, Dean looked straight at him. Cas ducked his head immediately and could feel a blush rising in his cheeks.

He glanced back up and Dean was still staring at him, now with a silly half grin on his face. For a brief moment, Cas wondered if Dean recognized him. Then Dean stood up and within a few seconds, he was standing in front of Cas holding his hand out.

"Hey, man. How's it goin'? I'm John."

****

After winning three hundred and fifty bucks at the pool table, I sit at the bar and order my celebratory whiskey. I'm happy to have the money in my pocket, even though I'm nowhere near broke.

Nancy, the only waitress in the joint, comes up to me and says, "Hey, Johnny, I think you have an admirer over there."

I reach out and brush her arm with my fingers. "An admirer, huh?" I murmur. "You jealous, Nance?"

She hits my hand away and laughs. "Yep, the guy with the sexy bed head in the trench coat," she says.

I follow her gaze to a guy sitting alone at a table close to the door. He has beer in front of him that looks like he's barely touched it. And he's looking right at me. He ducks his head immediately and legit blushes.

Nancy says, "Hey, I'm just passing it along, sweetie. He was eyeballing you something fierce when he first came in."

As I take in the overall appearance of the guy, a grin spreads across my face. I realize he's a good lookin' dude. Messy black hair, a chiseled jaw, full lips, eyes so blue I can see 'em all the way across the room as he glances at me again. I keep my eyes on him as I stand up. He's cute in a businessman sort of way, with his damn trench coat and tie.

When I get to his table, I hold my hand out to him and say, "Hey, man. How's it goin'? I'm John."

The guy smiles nervously, and takes my hand firmly in his broad, smooth hand. "I'm Cas."

"Cas, huh. That short for somethin'?" I ask him.

"Um, no, just Cas," he says, and his voice is very deep, almost a growl. There's something almost familiar about him. I feel a stir far down in my belly.

I sit down across from him without being invited and ask, "So are you gonna finish that beer so I can buy you another drink, or what?"

The guy is obviously pretty nervous, but he seems interested. He picks up the beer and downs it.

"Yes. Another drink would be good," he says and smiles again, looking relieved.

****

Cas was extremely relieved. It was going better than he ever could have imagined. Dean had come to him, and he was being friendly. Castiel drained his beer, and Dean ordered him another.

"So, Cas, what do you do? You an accountant or somethin'?" he asked as he swallowed another drink of his whiskey.

Cas shook his head, chuckled softly, and said "No, nothing like that. I'm...in between jobs at the moment. But I help people, or I try to anyway."

Dean was nodding. "Sounds pretty noble. So what, like charity and shit?"

"Something like that. What exactly do you do, John?"

Dean hesitated, and Castiel noticed him narrow his eyes a tiny bit like he was vaguely uncomfortable. "I'm between gigs, too, Cas. Right now, I'm just having a little fun." Then his wolfish smile was back.

An hour and half worth of small talk and a whole plate of nachos later, Dean said, "Hey, you wanna get outta here after that drink? We could go have a couple beers back at my place, hang out. To tell you the truth, I've been bored out of my skull lately, and company would do me some good."

Cas nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yes. Let's do that."

****

We walk into my room and as soon as we're inside, I put my hands to his shoulders and push his trench coat off. It lands in a bundle on the floor. I press him up against the door with the full length of my body. He's slightly shorter than me, though not by much.

He's looking at me with his head tilted slightly. "What..?"

I don't let him finish the question. I brush my lips against his to get a feel for his mouth.

He puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me back gently. "What is this?" he asks, and suddenly, I feel like a giant douchebag, wonder if I get my signals wrong.

"Uh, dude. This is a pickup. I saw you staring at me back at the bar, and I thought...you know..."

Sudden realization dawns on his face but somehow it just makes him look even more confused. "I, uh, I don't really understand this," he stammers, shaking his head. "I guess I just thought you liked women?" He lets out a shaky breath, then steps around me and sits down heavily on the bed.

"Yeah, man, I love women. But I didn't leave the bar with a chick, I left the bar with you," I say and sit down next to him.

He gazes up at me with those crazy blue eyes, and suddenly I'm so horny that I can barely stand it. I want him now. He might be straight, and I might have made the totally wrong call bringing him back to my room...but I want him anyway, want him in a deep feral way I can't remember ever wanting anyone.

I try to be patient, let him process the situation, but before I can stop myself I'm leaning over, and my mouth is on his again. This time, he doesn't push me away.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Hey baby, when you walk that way, watch your honey drip, can't keep away. -_ Led Zeppelin, Black Dog **

 

Dean's lips were soft; his mouth tasted of whiskey mixed with honey. He smelled like dry leaves and damp earth, the perfume of autumn, and his hands were calloused but gentle as they found Castiel's face, the back of his neck.

Cas knew kissing him was wrong, that it wasn't something Dean would want under normal circumstances. Dean was what Sam referred to as a "ladies man." He was straight. But Cas kissed him back anyway, feeling a vague sense of guilt. He couldn't help but feel he was crossing a line. He briefly wondered how their relationship would change for the worse once Dean had his memories back. The guilt intensified as he realized he didn't care.

Of course Castiel had thought about it before, wondered what kissing Dean would be like. His experience with women was minimal and his experience with men was nonexistent, but he clearly could not deny the fact that he had feelings for Dean that went beyond mere friendship. Dean was a good man, a righteous man. Castiel had seen him sacrifice himself for the greater good time and time again... and, well, an angel of the Lord did not turn his back on Heaven for just anyone. Cas had accepted a long time ago that his feelings were something he must never act on. But here he was anyway, tasting honey lips...

Dean's hands cupped both of Cas's cheeks. He pulled him closer, kissed harder. Dean flicked his tongue briefly across Castiel's lips, almost a question. Cas opened his mouth to invite him in, and then Dean's tongue was dancing against his own. Cas let out a breathy moan into Dean's open mouth that seemed to drive him over the edge. Dean fisted his hands into Cas's hair and pushed him roughly back into the mattress

"Wait...wait," Cas said breathlessly between kisses. "I've never done this before."

Dean pulled back and looked questioningly into his eyes, jade into evening sky. "Do you want to?" he asked, his voice thick with desire. Cas hesitated the briefest moment, then nodded.

"Then don't worry," he murmured. "I'm gonna make it good for you, I promise. I want to make this good for you..." Dean's lips caressed his neck as he loosened Cas's tie with nimble fingers and pulled it away, threw it to the floor. He unbuttoned the top few buttons of Cas's shirt and slowly worked his tongue along his collarbone. Cas shivered, arched up into the contact.

Short, quiet moans left his throat as Dean's thumb raked against his left nipple in slow circles. He began to shake, felt like an earthquake was beginning in his core. His hands were tangled into the back of Dean's t-shirt, and he dug his fingers in deep, wanted to feel skin instead of fabric. Cas let out a low growl and ripped Dean's shirt over his head, then ran his fingers up his spine slowly with his fingertips, tracing every vertebrae.

Dean began to grind his hips against him, his hardness apparent, and Cas felt almost electrified. His eyes flew open and he found Dean staring down at him, his lips parted and green eyes blazing.

"Oh my god, you are so goddamn hot when you look up at me like that," Dean said hoarsely, then he leaned Cas up and pulled his shirt over his head. When Cas's chest was bare, Dean began to run his hands over his ribs, down his stomach, across his sensitive hipbones, back up to his neck, exploring every inch of his exposed skin.

Castiel traced his fingers along a short, raised scar that began on Dean's shoulder and ended on his bicep, and he felt Dean pull away and stiffen slightly. "Shh, it's ok, it's beautiful," Cas whispered, knowing that every scar Dean had, he had earned from doing good in the world.

Dean sighed and closed his eyes. "I ain't beautiful, Cas. I don't know what I am." Then, suddenly, forcefully, he reached down and undid the button on Castiel's slacks, ran his thumb under the elastic of his boxers. It lightly brushed against the hardened tip of Cas's cock.

Cas gasped, half believing none of it was real, the other half getting lost in it. "I want you, I really do," he admitted, whether to himself or Dean, he wasn't sure. But he knew he meant it. In that moment, he had never wanted anything more.

****

I kiss him deeply, this odd man, kiss him like if I let him go he might fly away. I feel something deep inside me that I haven't felt once since I woke up an anonymous mess in that first motel room. It almost feels like...home?

He traces one of my many scars, and I pull back, suddenly afraid of the questions he might ask, questions I won't have answers for.

"Shhh," he whispers, "it's ok, it's beautiful."

I relax, but close my eyes and say, "I ain't beautiful, Cas. I don't know what I am." And it's true, I don't have a fucking clue, but I feel content for the first time in a month, so I unbutton his pants and run a hand along his stomach, beneath his boxers. I brush against him and feel how ready he is.

He moans at that brief contact and says quietly, "I want you, I really do." At those words spoken in that deep raspy voice, I very nearly come right there.

Not wasting any time, I yank his pants and underwear down below his knees, grab his cock in the palm of my hand and begin long slow strokes. He thrusts his hips up, fucking into my hand, and I push him back down, say, "Be still, let me do this."

I kiss his chest, suck at one nipple for a second then the other, swirl my tongue around his belly button, all the while keeping up that slow, steady motion with my hand. When I can tell he is struggling to keep from writhing beneath me, I take the head of his hard cock into my mouth and suck. I hear him gasp, and my dick starts to throb.

Slowly, so slowly, I lower my mouth down his shaft until I feel him in my throat. He's breathing fast and hard, and I know if I look up, he'll be watching me; so I peek up through my eyelashes, and sure enough, his eyes are on me, watching me take him into my mouth. His teeth are bared and his brows are furrowed in concentration. He's trying to make it last. I smirk around his dick.

I begin to suck and lick faster, running my tongue from the tip of his cock to the base. I know it won't take me long to make him come. And I want it. I want to feel the heat of him burst into my throat. I want to know what kind of noises he'll make, and if he'll shout out the phony name I gave him. He said my scars were beautiful, and I want to make him feel things he's never felt before, because I'm not beautiful, I'm _dangerous_ , goddammit. He doesn't see me for what I am...and I'm grateful for that.

Cas shouts, "Oh, my God," and grabs the back of my head, grunts and thrusts deep into my mouth as hot, thick liquid shoots out of him in waves. I drink him into me, he is my communion wine...

After it's over and he softens in my mouth, I pull away, crawl back up and flop down beside him. "Was that okay?" I ask, knowing the answer.

"That was...very okay," he says, a small smile stealing across his face. He pulls his pants back up, low on his hips, but doesn't bother to zip them.

I chuckle a little, pull a pack of smokes out of the pocket of my jeans. "Well, we aren't done yet, I hope." I offer him a cigarette, then light one up for myself when he declines.

He looks at me, tilts his head, and says, "I didn't know you smoke," like that's something he should instictively know about a stranger.

"Well, technically, I don't. Not all the time, anyway. Just after..." I waggle my eyebrows suggestively and grin.

We sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before I say, "So I'm your very first ever guy, huh? I'm flattered," I take a deep drag of gray smoke and let it out in rings.

Cas looks at me with a strange expression on his face. "You are the only man I would even consider."

"Hmmm," I say, a smile spreading wide across my face. "You don't even know me."

I stub my cigarette out in a glass on the nightstand. Cas flicks his eyes from mine down to the floor and then back again and says, "I know enough." And the craziest part is, I believe him. This dude who I've known for only a few hours believes I'm a good person. Trust like that is worth it's weight in gold.

"You know enough," I repeat in a teasing tone and run my hand from his neck down to his tight stomach, massaging the flesh there.

He nods. "I do," he says simply, then he leans forward and kisses my cheek, such a sweet, innocent gesture that I turn to mush inside a little. Cas is getting to me in the worst way. Strangely, that scares me more than having amnesia.

****

Castiel wasn't sure what should come next, but he knew that Dean had made him feel amazing, and he wanted to do the same for him. "What do we do now?" he asked nervously.

Dean was laying on his side with his head propped up in one hand and was rubbing Cas's stomach with the other. "Well, that depends. I don't want to do anything that'll make you uncomfortable."

Cas flushed. "Nothing you do makes me uncomfortable. I trust you. I want...I want to do whatever you want to do," he said.

Dean let out a long, slow hiss of breath between his teeth. "Well...I want to fuck you, Cas" he replied quietly. He leaned in and kissed Cas softly on the mouth. "I want to fuck you so bad I can barely stand it." He grabbed a handful of Castiel's hair and tugged gently. "I want to make you scream and beg and look at me with those blue eyes the whole time I have my dick inside you."

Cas's chest rose and fell harder. "Will it hurt?" he asked.

Dean shook his head. "I'm not gonna hurt you." Dean undid his belt and slid his pants off. Cas groaned at the sight of Dean's big, hard cock. He was a little scared; the brave angel who had fought in the wars of Heaven, rampaged into Hell to raise the righteous man, and carried out the will of God himself. Cas pulled his own pants off, and they just lay there for a moment, running their hands over each other's sides and gazing into each other's eyes.

"Hang on," Dean said. He got up and walked over to his bag, pulled out a box of condoms. "Can't forget these."

When he got back to the bed, he murmured, "Roll over onto your stomach." Cas did as he was told.

"You just need to relax," Dean said as he began to knead the muscles of Castiel's back. He massaged into his shoulders, down his spine. Cas sank further into the mattress. After what seemed like forever, Dean began to work the muscles of Cas's ass and upper thighs.

"That feels good," Cas said, muffled into the pillow under his face. Dean kept working Castiel's body beneath his hands like his flesh was made of clay.

"Okay, I'm going to finger you a little. It won't hurt. Just stay relaxed, ok, baby?" Cas heard the click of a bottle opening, thought with a stupid grin, _he called me baby..._

Cas felt something wet at the opening of his ass, teasing little circles, and then a pressure.

"Ohhhh," he grunted, though it didn't hurt, not really. It was just a fullness that hadn't been there before.

Dean started working his finger in and out, slowly at first, but then he sped up and curled his finger and touched something inside of Cas that made him arch his back and moan.

"Yeah...you're so tight, baby, gotta loosen you up before you can take my dick..." Cas recognized this as dirty talk, and by god, it was effective. He couldn't help but raise him hips in time with Dean's fingers, his semi-erect penis grinding uncomfortably into the blanket beneath him.

"Cas...I'm gonna do it now, okay? Please tell me it's okay," Dean almost growled, his breath hot against Cas's neck.

"Yes...yes," was all Cas could manage. Dean rolled him back over onto his back, and Cas watched with some wonder as he expertly rolled a condom on. Then he grabbed Cas's thighs and gently pushed them apart.

"If it hurts, tell me. I don't want to hurt you." He guided himself in, and then that wonderful pressure was back. Dean moved so slow, so gently, and it did hurt a little, but it felt wonderful, too. "Look at me, Cas. I want you to see me when you make me come," Dean moaned as he slid in and out of Cas.

Cas kept his eyes locked on Dean's and made a soft breathy noise every time Dean sank himself into his ass. It felt like fire and rain, every natural disaster known to man, like whole galaxies were forming inside of him, and Cas saw stars in his vision as he watched this beautiful man move above him.

"Harder. Do it harder," Castiel managed to choke out.

Dean's breath caught in his throat, and then he sped up. Cas could hear flesh slapping against flesh, and he cried out.

"Oh, oh, uh huh, mmmm," Castiel groaned incoherently as he clawed his fingers into Dean's back. Then Dean let out a great, shuddering sob, and fell into Castiel's arms. He wrapped himself around him and thrust involuntary over and over as he came.

It could have been minutes or it could have been hours, but eventually they disentangled their limbs and just held one another. Dean kissed Cas softly, then rolled to grab another cigarette from the pack on the floor next to the bed. "Cas," he said as he lit it, "please...still be here in the morning."

Cas smiled and pulled him close. "I'm not going anywhere," he promised.


	5. Chapter 5

**_I can't count the tears of a life with no love. -_ Led Zeppelin, Rock And Roll **

 

I wake up in increments and throughout each stage, I realize: I'm content; then, I'm happy; then, I am actually not fucking scared for the first time I can remember. It's strange to wake up with no fear.

 _Cas_ , I think, and I lazily reach next to me to drape my arm over him. My eyes pop open immediately and panic sets in. He isn't there. I sit up and look around, but I'm alone. _Back to square one in a shitty, nondescript motel room, fucking alone..._

I flop back down on the bed and put my arm over my eyes. My face feels hot, and I realize with some embarrassment that I want to cry, which is weird because I barely know the guy. What did I expect, that we would ride off into the sunset together and live happily ever after?

I don't know how long I stay like that, fighting off ridiculous man-tears, before I hear the noise of a key card in the door and the knob turning. I sit up quickly, my heart pounding. Cas is standing in the doorway looking like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. His hair is even messier than the night before, and he's not wearing his tie or trench coat. His cheeks are just beginning to show stubble. He looks beautiful.

"Cas," I breathe, feeling so much relief that my heart hurts.

"Uh, good morning. I wanted to surprise you...I got coffee. And a big greasy breakfast?" He clears his throat and holds up a large styrofoam cup in one hand and a splotchy paper sack in the other.

I smile to distract from how close I was to losing it, but I can't stop one tear from trailing down my cheek. "I woke up, and you were gone, and I thought..." I start, and a small sob escapes my throat.

Before I can even blink, he sets the food down and is beside me on the bed. Cas wraps his arms around me and pulls my head into his chest. "Shhh," he murmurs. "I'm right here. I told you I wasn't leaving. I'm not going anywhere." He runs his fingers through my hair.

I look up at him with bright, wet eyes and sniff. "Dude...I'm sorry." I let out a shaky, little laugh. "I'm such a fucking mess. If I were you, I'd be runnin' for the door," I say.

"I'm not running. Why would I run?" he says, tilting his head in that odd way of his.

Suddenly, I leap up and seal my mouth against his, kissing him hard. He stiffens, then melts into me and wraps his arms around my back tightly. It's wild and hungry and frantic, and we devour each other. His clothes are flying off in every direction as I rip them from his body, and before I know it, we are both naked. His leg is in between my thighs, and we grind into each other as hard as we can stand.

"Fuck me, Cas. I need you to fuck me," I plead in between kisses. He pulls back.

"I don't..." he starts to say, then he sees the desperation on my face. He gets a steely resolve in his eyes that would be scary if it wasn't so fucking sexy. Cas flips me onto my stomach. I hear him rustling around to grab a condom from the box on the nightstand. There's the crinkle of plastic, the click of the lube lid, and then he enters me from behind, quickly and forcefully, no time for foreplay.

"Ohh," I moan as he slides in as far as he can go. I raise up on my knees and bury my face into my pillow. "Yeah, like that, but harder..." I manage to choke out.

Cas grunts, and then he has his fist in my hair pulling my head back as he pounds into me. The pleasure is white-hot in its intensity. My hard cock slaps painfully up against my belly with every thrust.

"Is this what you want?" he growls.

"Yeah. Yes, oh _goddamn_ , _harder_ ," I command.

Cas begins to jackhammer inside of me and then he reaches around and grips my dick, begins to pump it in time with his movement, and before I can even cry out, I empty into his fist. I yell his name, my throat raw and voice hoarse, then he lets out an animalistic sound as he bursts seconds after I do.

I think it's in that moment that I decide to come clean with him about everything. When I can figure out how to broach the subject, that is.

We fall into the mattress, sweaty and exhausted. He has a strange look on his face, and he won't quite meet my eyes, almost like he feels guilty.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

Cas sighs heavily."You were upset. I feel like I took advantage of that."

I pull a cigarette out of my pack and light it. "Fuck all that noise. That was exactly what I needed." My heart is hammering in my chest. The deep coil of anxiety that formed when I realized Cas wasn't in the room is finally starting to unravel.

"Um..." he starts to say, head tilted in that way I've noticed he does so often.

"Yeah, Cas?"

"I think I will take that cigarette now..."

****

Castiel lit the cigarette and was strangely proud of himself when it didn't make him cough. He was pleasantly surprised to find sex and a cigarette went well together. There was a companionable silence between them as they smoked.

Castiel couldn't shake the guilt he felt about, well, everything. There was a time when he could have made this whole situation better by simply touching Dean on the forehead and healing the broken parts inside him. Hell, there was a time when Cas could have instantly transported them back to Kansas instead of trying to figure out a way to get Dean to come with him voluntarily. Cas was working on stolen grace; his batteries were significantly drained by that, so a rental car would have to do the trick.

He hadn't meant to worry Dean, and he had felt terrible when he walked in to the sight of him with tears in his eyes and fear on his face. But Cas, having had no need for sleep, had watched Dean's peaceful face throughout the night, then gotten the bright idea to get him breakfast before he woke up.

While he was out, he phoned Sam to let him know that things were going...well? He couldn't tell Sam about what had transpired between Dean and himself the night before, but he did let Sam know that they were talking, that Dean was safe. That he would try to get Dean to come back with him to Kansas as soon as possible.

Sam had seemed thrilled and told him he was doing a great job...Castiel was just nervous about how Dean would react to their new dynamic when he was himself again.

What had happened when he returned to the motel room had been unexpected to say the least. He felt like he had taken advantage of Dean in a vulnerable moment, and he was kicking himself for allowing himself to be so weak.

"Cas," Dean said finally with a look of resignation on his face. "I need to tell you some stuff, and I think it's gonna freak you out. But I feel like I have to tell you." He let out a long sigh.

"Alright, but I very seriously doubt I will be freaked out," Cas responded quietly.

Dean sat there for a moment and stared at his hands. "My name isn't John."

Cas just held his breath and waited for him to continue.

"I don't know my name. I don't know a goddamn thing." Dean swiped a hand across his face, something Cas had seen him do many times when he was stressed out or upset. "This whole last month? It's like I've been in the dark, and I don't know what happened to cause it." Dean paused and looked Castiel directly in the eyes. "But I think I'm dangerous, like really dangerous, and I just thought you should know."

 _Warn me, he means,_ thought Cas sadly. He wished he could reassure Dean that he was a good man and take his worry away.

Castiel wondered briefly how he should respond to the confession. Finally, he cupped Dean's cheek in his hand and said, "I do not think you are a danger to me."

Dean looked somewhat relieved. And then Castiel had an idea. Sam would have said a lightbulb went off over his head.

"Amnesia, huh. Well, it might just be you're lucky day."

****

Cas might be certifiably nuts, I decide. When I explain the situation to him, he seems completely unfazed. "How the fuck is any of this shit lucky?" I ask him with a frown on my face. I get up to go see what's in the bag, though it's considerably colder now. Greasy eggs, bacon, sausage...my favorites.

"It's lucky that you met me. I happen to have an...associate, back in Kansas who specializes in memory loss and, more importantly, memory retrieval," he says as he watches me dig into the luke-warm food.

"What, like a hypnotist?" I snort around a mouthful of bacon. "Not sure I'm buyin' what you're sellin', man."

Cas gets a confused look on his face. "I'm not selling anything. I'm sure he would provide his services for free."

I bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from grinning. "Oh. You didn't mean literally," Cas says, smiling a little. "He's a...psychiatrist. This could be a good thing."

I don't feel like it could be a good thing. I feel like it could be the gust of wind that makes the whole damn house of cards come crashing down. Do I really want to peek under that rock? What if I'm a fucking serial killer?

 _What if Cas hates the real me_ , I think.

Cas is looking at me with such a deep desperation on his face that I suddenly stop chewing a mouthful of eggs. "Why do you care so much?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "I just do. You didn't see the look on your face when I came back from getting breakfast. I want to help you."

"You don't even know me!" I say more sharply than I intend to, and he flinches. I immediately feel like a shit head.

He takes a step forward and raises his chin defiantly. "Well, from what it sounds like, you don't really know you, either." His eyes soften and he says quietly, "I care about you."

I consider it. He's right, I don't know who I am, and this is the first real chance I've had to find out. I've got no other leads. "You'll come with me?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

Cas's shoulders slump at his relief and he sits down across from me at the small dinette table. "Yes, I will take you there."

So _that's_ ok, then. He's going be with me through this, and I might finally get some answers. Maybe this bastard of a nightmare will finally end, and I can have a chance at a normal life.

I realize that for this beautiful man, I am willing to try.


	6. Chapter 6

**_The night is long, the beads of time pass slow. Tired eyes on the sunrise, waiting for the eastern glow. -_ Led Zeppelin, Battle Of Evermore **

 

Sam got the call at noon the next day.

"Dean has agreed to come back to Kansas with me. I'm going to rent a car. We should arrive tomorrow morning," Cas said when Sam answered the phone.

"That's great, man!" Sam didn't know how that weird little dude had worked his mojo so fast, but whatever it was, he was glad that Dean would be back in less than twenty-four hours. Cas filled him in on the plan, and it was a decent idea, Sam had to admit. It would get Dean to him, and that was all that mattered.

Sam got to work on getting everything ready. He called Andra to let her know, and true to her word, she was willing and ready to remove the hex. Sam would have liked to meet Cas and Dean halfway, but he couldn't convince Andra to go with him. He considered making her go anyway, but then thought if he did she might not cooperate. He told her the plan, and she agreed to meet up with him a half hour before Dean and Cas were due to arrive. Sam wasn't sure how he was going to deal with her when it was all over.

Next, he found a mostly furnished office that was out of use in an old strip mall for everyone to meet up. Using his lock pick, he went inside and thought it would work for their purposes. He texted Cas and Andra the address.

There was nothing left for Sam to do but wait.

****

Castiel rented a car late that afternoon, a sensible tan Toyota Corolla that Dean eyed with distaste.

"That looks like some shit a fed would drive, dude," he said as he stood outside the motel with his duffle bag slung over his shoulder. He looked as though he was trying to appear less nervous than he felt.

Cas smiled slyly and asked, "I suppose you're a muscle car guy?"

Dean lit up at that. "You bet your sweet ass. Old cars are awesome."

Castiel threw him the keys. "How about you drive the first half?" Dean seemed excited about it. He hadn't been behind the wheel of anything for too long.

Dean slid in and started her up. Cas sat in the passenger seat and fiddled with the radio until he found a classic rock station he knew Dean would like. "You just get better and better, Cas," Dean said when a Skynyrd song started up.

There were equal parts comfortable silence and conversation on the first half of the drive. Dean sang along poorly with the radio and even got Cas to sing with him to song he sort of knew, smiling and peeking at Cas out of the corner of his eye the whole time.

After a few hours, just after the sun went down, Dean pulled off the highway onto a small side road, and said, "I need to piss and stretch my legs." He yawned. "You wanna take over driving for awhile?"

Cas nodded and got out of the car to switch seats. He felt a distant melancholy as he leaned against the roof of the car watching Dean walk around and stretch. Castiel knew everything was about to change, but he didn't know what that meant for him and Dean. It was crazy. He supposed that his Dean, the one who had his memories, would be very upset by the events of the past twenty-four hours. But this Dean _was_ his Dean in every mannerism; he just didn't know it.

Before he could think about it too much and decide against it, he approached Dean and enveloped him in a tight hug. He just wanted to hold him again before they got to Sam.

"Hey, hey," Dean crooned into his ear as he hugged him back, "what's the matter?"

Castiel hesitated. "Nothing. I just...I just wanted you to know, this has all been wonderful."

"Nothin's gonna change on my end, Cas," Dean murmured into his hair.

Cas wanted to tell him he couldn't possibly know that, and he wanted to tell him that he loved him, had always loved him, but he bit his tongue. Instead, Cas leaned forward and kissed him. He started clumsily fumbling with the button on Dean's jeans.

"Whoa, on the side of a dirt road? Kinky," Dean said with a smile in his voice.

"Shhh," Cas whispered. He stuck his hand inside Dean's pants to feel his rapidly hardening dick against his palm. Pulling it free from the denim, he curled his fist around it and began tight, slow strokes. "Kiss me," he said.

Dean complied, and Cas began to jerk him harder and faster. Dean tangled his hands into Cas's hair, breathing hard against his cheek. Cas nibbled at his earlobe, and a low moan escaped Dean's throat.

Cas whirled them both around and pushed Dean's back against the side of the car. He dropped roughly to his knees, not caring about the dirt on his pants or the fact that another vehicle could come along at any second, only caring about making Dean feel him one more time.

He yanked Dean's jeans all the way down to his ankles, and then took his throbbing cock into his mouth. Castiel wasn't really sure about technique, but when he began to kiss and suck and swirl his tongue, he knew Dean loved it from the way he was trembling. Cas pulled back and stared up at Dean in the moonlight. When he was sure Dean was watching, he stuck his middle finger seductively in his mouth to wet it. Dean groaned.

Cas started sucking his cock again, harder and faster now, and then he reached between his legs with his moistened finger. He found Dean's hole and rubbed against it slowly before inserting his finger to the second knuckle. "Mmhmm," Dean sighed. He was running his hands through Castiel's hair over and over.

Castiel slid his finger in all the way, curled it forward, and that was it. Dean bucked his hips, and Castiel felt hot liquid shoot into his mouth. It tasted salty and pure. He kept his mouth on Dean until there was nothing left, then sat back on his haunches and looked up at him as Dean pulled his pants up.

Dean reached down and offered Cas a hand up. When he was standing, Dean clasped his shoulder tightly, chuckled, and said, "Cas...don't ever change." Castiel's heart hurt; he had heard Dean say those words before.

He quickly turned away so Dean wouldn't see the tears that were threatening to spill over onto his cheeks, then said brusquely, "We better get going."

****

When Cas pulls the car back into the highway, he gets quiet. I don't know why. He seems worried and distracted, and any attempt I make to get him to open up is immediately deflected. Finally, I close my eyes. We have a long drive ahead of us. I drift into an uneasy sleep.

I dream...

... _of an large empty room. The walls are covered with weird drawings and symbols. I'm nervous as I fiddle with a knife in my hands. "Maybe he won't show," I say to no one in particular._

_After what feels like an eternity, the large double doors at the front of the room slam open, and the lights begin to rain down multicolored sparks. I jump at the noise._

_There he is, walking towards me with a self assurance that is both powerful and frightening. The sparks bounce off of his trench coat, but he is oblivious to them._

_"Who are you?" I manage to say in my awe._

_He tilts his head and looks into my soul. "I am the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition..."_

_There is a blinding heat on my shoulder, and I pull my sleeve up to see an angry looking raised, red handprint there._

_I look back up at him. His black hair is in disarray, and his coat flutters around him. His blue eyes shine with an unearthly light. Behind him, the shadows of two massive wings unfurl._

_"You...you're beautiful," I choke out. "Cas..."_

"Cas..." I mutter as I open my eyes. The sky is a muted gray in the early morning light.

"Yes?" he says from the driver seat. I rub my eyes and stretch my arm.

"What?" I yawn loudly. "I, uh, I think had a dream about you." The dream is already starting to fade away. I remember sparks and shadows and that Cas was definitely there.

He half smiles, then says, "We are almost there. We can stop for breakfast if you'd like."

I shake my head. "Let's just get this over with. I don't think I can eat right now." I wonder if whatever this guy is gonna do will even work. Part of me hopes it doesn't. If I have hurt people, done horrible things, Cas isn't gonna want to stick around.

We pull up in front of a strip mall that looks like it hasn't seen business since the 90s. The outside is painted a dirty, peeling shade of white.

"Uh, dude? This place is sketchy," I say. "You aren't gonna take me in there and slice me up Dexter-style, are you?" I laugh to show him I'm not serious.

"I don't think I understand that reference, but no. My friend and his secretary work inside that office," he replied, pointing to the second to last door.

I take a deep breath. "Okay. I'm as ready as I'll ever be I guess." I stare at him until he turns his head to look back. "Cas, I just want to say, you showing up when you did, it's almost like you're my guardian angel or somethin'." I have a brief flicker of déjà vu, and I notice him stiffen.

"I am your friend. I care about you," he says slowly, and then I grab his face and kiss him, pull him into my arms in a tight embrace. "Be here when I come out?" I ask.

He nods, and I open the car door. I look back at him one last time, then make my way into the office. When I open the door, there is a pretty blonde sitting behind the desk and a gigantic man with longish hair standing behind her.

She smirks at me, and the man says, "Hey, you're Cas's friend, right?" I nod, and there's something about this man that seems familiar. When I look at him I think of smoke. "Well, just have a seat right there, and we can get started."

He gestures to a small love seat next to the desk, and I sit down. He looks at the woman, and nods his head slightly, and for some reason, he looks pissed.

She stands up and clears her throat, then steps towards me. "Ní mór duit chun teacht ar cad tá tú caillte, mór nó beag, ar aon chostas," she says in a weird, chanting voice.

I start to stand up. "What the fuck is that shit?"

The man looks at me and says, "Just hang on a second."

The woman continues, "Bhí cónaí ar an saol go maith, snoite i cloch. Tá do cuimhní cinn anuas mise ina n-aonar." My legs go weak, and I sit back down quickly.

She has a little back in her hand, and she opens it and sprinkles what appears to be a mixture of herbs and dirt into my hair. "Cuimhnigh..." she says.

And then...over thirty years of memories slam into my head all at once, and everything goes black.


	7. Chapter 7

**_If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you. If the mountains crumbled to the sea, there would still be you and me. -_ Led Zeppelin, Thank You **

 

I open my eyes slowly and blink.

"Sammy?" I ask hoarsely. Andra is standing by the desk with her arms folded over her chest, and I briefly wonder what the fuck she's doing here. Sam has rushed to my side and is gently shaking me.

"Dean, I'm right here. Are you okay?" Sam asks with concern painted across his face.

I nod my head and let a out a long breath. "Yeah, yeah. I think so." I'm dizzy and have a mother fucker of a headache, but otherwise, I seem fine.

Sam smiles broadly and pulls me into a tight hug. "It's good to have you back, man," he says. "Do you remember anything from the last few weeks?"

I remember...well, everything. I feel myself blush a bright red, but I chuckle and say, "Yeah, a lotta pool games and motel rooms." I run a hand through my hair. "Damn, Sammy, I need a haircut. What the hell happened?"

Sam's face turns stony, and he glares at Andra. " _She_ put an amnesia spell on you," he says accusingly. "What do you want to do with her?"

I don't even have to think about it. "Let her go."

"What!" Sam exclaims.

"Andra, you won't do this ever again will you?" I ask her in a stern tone. There is no point in punishing her. Hell, I've learned more about myself in the past month than the last decade; I almost want to thank her.

"No, I promise," she quickly says, backing up a step or two.

"Okay, Sammy, you heard the lady. Let her go." Andra turns to make her exit.

"Andra?" I say gently. She turns back to face me. "I'm sorry." She nods, then goes out the door. Sam doesn't move to try and stop her.

"Dean, why are you apologizing to her? I can't believe after what you've been through, you don't want to make sure she never hurts anybody again," Sam says accusingly.

I am tired. Exhausted, really. "She won't do it again. And I kinda deserved it anyway," I reply, thinking about the many pleading texts she had sent me, just asking me to give her a straight answer about our "relationship" before I blocked her number. I could have - _should have_ \- talked to her about it instead of ignoring her.

"I was an asshole," I say as I lean back and close my eyes, rub small circles into my temples.

"Well, I guess whatever you want to do, Dean," Sam mumbles begrudgingly.

"You have no idea how nice it is to hear someone say my actual name, Sammy."

"Yeah, I bet. I'm just glad Cas found you when he did," he says.

I sit straight up, and my eyes pop open. "Cas." I jump up and ignore the pain in my head as I run outside. The Corolla is still sitting in the same spot, but Cas is long gone.

****

It's been ten days. Ten agonizing days with no sign of Cas. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled to be back at the bunker and to have my own bed back, ecstatic to be back with Sam...but every day that passes, my heart still sinks a little more. I've tried calling Cas's cell phone over and over, but he ain't answering. Now I know exactly how Andra felt...

I'm sitting on the couch cleaning guns, because it's been awhile, when I decide, _fuck it, I need to know what I did wrong to make Cas run away from me._

"Sam, I need you to get Cas here. Say whatever you have to say, but get him here," I say suddenly.

Sam looks up from a big dusty book he's reading, his hair falling into his eyes. "Yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about that. Why didn't he stick around the other day?"

I decide to tell him the truth. "Some stuff happened between us. I need to talk to him about it."

"What kind of stuff," Sam asks. I just stare at him and slowly raise one eyebrow. Sam's jaw dropped. " _Stuff_ stuff?"

Sam opens his mouth. Closes it again. Looks like he wants to say something and then doesn't.

"Yeah, Sammy. Your big brother is into dudes. Sorry," I say bitterly.

Sam looks at me with compassion in his eyes that makes me want to squirm and says, "You know I don't give a shit about that. I just didn't know..."

I cut him off. "You wanna know why you didn't know? Because of Dad."

Sam shakes his head, gets his hair in his eyes again. "What does dad have to do with this?"

I let out a short, disgusted laugh. "Dad caught me once when I was in high school. I was kissing a boy from my class. Just _kissing_! He beat the hell out of me, Sammy. And he told me if you ever found out, he would take you away and leave me behind. Like a good little soldier, I said 'yes sir,' and that was pretty much the end of it."

Sam looks shocked. "Dean, you have to know, I never would have judged you about something like that. I just always thought you were straight."

"I like women, and I like men," I say simply with a shrug. "But aside from a couple of guys while you were at Stanford and I was working jobs on my own, I buried that part of myself. Once you came back, I didn't let myself act on it anymore. Dad ingrained it into me pretty deep that I needed to keep that shit away from you."

Sam looks horrified. "I am so sorry."

I frown. "It isn't your fault. But when I lost my memories, it was still there. Only I didn't push it away, because I didn't know I was supposed to. I went after Cas. He didn't stand a chance."

We're both silent for a minute, then Sam smiles knowingly and says, "I always _thought_ Cas had the hots for you, with all his 'Dean and I share a profound bond' talk."

"Well, you wouldn't know it from the way he's been ignoring my calls, Sammy. I don't know what happened," I respond.

"Maybe he's just scared. I will talk to him. We'll fix this, man," Sam says reassuringly.

 _Why would he be scared of me_ , I wonder sadly. I feel like my heart is breaking. I don't know if it can be fixed.

****

Cas was sitting in a small diner staring at a plate of cherry pie. He wasn't planning on eating it, only stared. His phone buzzed for the twentieth time that day, and yet again, he ignored it. He wasn't ready to face Dean just yet.

After a moment, it buzzed again, and he looked down at it and frowned. It was Sam. He wondered if something was wrong.

"Hello, Sam," he said as he tried to keep the panic out of his voice. "Is everything alright?"

"No, Cas, it isn't. Why are you ignoring Dean's calls?" The younger Winchester sounded angry.

"I...I have been very busy. Tell him I'm sorry," Cas said.

"No. You're going to fly your ass over here and tell him yourself." He paused. "I don't know what you think is gonna happen, but he needs to talk to you. Now." Sam hung up the phone.

Castiel knew he had done a very bad thing. His guilt was eating away at him. He felt like he had abused Dean's trust by allowing his feelings to get in the way of their friendship at a time when Dean was extremely vulnerable. Perhaps now was the right time to face the consequences of his actions...whatever they might be. He knew he wasn't willing to avoid Dean forever, and something in Sam's voice told him things really were not okay.

Suddenly, before he could change his mind, he was standing in the library of the bunker. Sam was sitting at one of the long tables working on his laptop. "He's in his room, Cas. Go easy on him."

Go easy on him? What was going on? Cas made his way to Dean's bedroom door and knocked lightly.

"Come in," Dean called out. His voice sounded muffled and strange.

When Cas opened the door and stepped inside, it was like the morning he had gone to get breakfast all over again. Dean sat up with tears in his eyes and said softly, "Cas?"

"Hello, Dean." Dean jumped up and embraced Castiel so hard he felt like his ribs were going to break.

"You're not...angry with me?" Cas asked.

Dean pulled back. "Why would I be?" He seemed genuinely confused.

"I took advantage of your...situation. I let things happen, and..."

"What the fuck, Cas. I hit on you, not the other way around. And I probably would have done it years ago if I hadn't been denying who I really am for the last decade."

Castiel suddenly felt terrible and relieved all in the same moment. He had made Dean worry for nothing. He pulled Dean back into a hug and whispered, "I'm sorry..."

"I'm glad you're here," Dean breathed into his neck. Dean pulled away from the embrace and tilted Castiel's chin up before kissing him softly on the lips. "I love you, you fucking idiot. Don't take off on me again."

Castiel felt a strange wetness in his eyes that he had only experienced a handful of times in all of his millennia. A tear escaped the corner of his eye and rolled down to his jaw. "I love you, too, Dean. More than you know."

That night, Castiel and Dean made love slowly, and they reveled in the beauty of each other. It was different for Cas now that Dean remembered, but different in a good way, more tender, less frantic.

There was no longer any need to rush. They had a whole lifetime sprawling into eternity in front of them to figure things out.

****

I wake up, and everything's familiar, from the smell of my sheets to the faint light coming under my bedroom door. I'm in _my_ bed, and the soft glow of the alarm clock reads 4:07 a.m.

Here's what I _do_ know: my name is Dean Winchester, I have a little brother named Sammy, and I save people. There's soft snoring coming from next to me, and I smile into the darkness. Cas doesn't _have_ to sleep, but he does it anyway. He does it for me, so I never have to wake up alone. I roll over and wrap my arms around him, bury my face into his disheveled hair to breathe him in.

He's here.

He's mine.

I'm home.


End file.
